


Who's who?

by fallensherlock



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Crack, Other, absolutely no clue what this is
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:54:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23352013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallensherlock/pseuds/fallensherlock
Summary: The Doctor and the Master both suffer from post-regeneration amnesia and try to figure out who the hell they are.
Relationships: The Doctor & The Master (Doctor Who), The Doctor/The Master (Doctor Who)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 28





	Who's who?

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this on a whim using the entire half of my braincell. Posting it at 2am before I change my mind. It's feral, it's bad, don't ask what's going on, I don't know either. Inspired by this post https://lucifers-favorite-child.tumblr.com/post/613706284596969472/its-shameful-that-the-master-and-the-doctor-have

Two very confused people are stuck in a vehicle that, by the looks of it, is not going to be a functional vehicle for much longer.

One of them is holding onto a weird circular thing in the middle of the room that looks like remains of a console and shouts for their dear life, since there isn’t a lot more they can think of doing.

“Does anyone know how to stop this thing from shaking like a- wait, what can you shake? Cymbals? Gongs? Oh, never mind. Wait, maracas! I wonder if there’s a pair of them in here somewhere. But why would the-,” they can’t finish as they’re flung away from the console and thrown onto another person lying on the floor.

The force of impact wakes them up so violently that their first reaction is to jump to their feet, but the instability of their surroundings and the fact that their limbs are entangled with someone else’s unsurprisingly makes it very hard. “Are we in a band?”

“No, probably not, I don’t think so, but why don’t we start one? That would be fun! I’ll find myself a guitar, do you want to sing? Promise me you’ve got a voice though.”

“Yeah, let’s! But wait, why is the ground moving?” They ask trying to outshout the very loud whirrs and thumps and bangs coming from every direction.

“Oh, that! No idea, but do you think you can fly this thing?”

“I don’t know, do I? But right now, I feel like trying!” They yell, this time somehow actually jumping to their feet and grabbing onto the console. They notice a red, flashing button. “That’s a big, red, shiny button. Who can resist one, right?!” They shout as they press it with all the strength they have and to everyone’s surprise, the vehicle is still spinning into their inevitable demise, with the small change of the lights now flashing in red.

“Well, at least the lightning’s more atmospheric!” The long-haired and slightly taller individual yells as they crawl to the console, blindly pulling all the levers and pushing all the buttons within their reach.

“That isn’t really helping, thank you!” The shorter one screams, clutching onto anything they can find, actually starting to get worried about their immediate future.

“Well, how about that one!” They grin maniacally and push the only lever that hasn’t been touched yet. Not a second passes until the TARDIS crashes, parts and bits of its interior flying in all directions, leaving the Time Lords back on the floor.

“Not a shame, really,” the smug, tall one blinks a couple of times, sits up and dusts off their shoulders, which doesn’t do much help since they look like they’ve just been through hell anyway, with their clothes full of burnt out, gaping holes. “It looked kind of rubbish if you ask me.”

“No offence but yeah, a bit. Why didn’t you redecorate then?” asks the shorter one.

“Oi! My taste would never be so dreadful. It must be your TARDIS!” They give each other offended looks.

“Wait, who are you again? No, no, who am _I_ again? Ooh, fresh tongue,” they get distracted by their new mouth and lick the dirt off of their finger, visibly contemplating the taste. “Ohh, what a range those taste buds have! Does your tongue taste different as well? Oh my god, does your tongue have a taste of its own? Can I try?” The would-be victim got up before they had a chance to lean in properly.

“I was thinking that I must be a Time Lord, and it seems like I just regenerated. My fingers are still tickling. Oh yikes, my liver as well,” they bend over, giggling, before clearing their throat. “Are you a Time Lord as well?”

The shorter, ginger one shrugs and snorts. “I mean, I guess! Which Time Lords are we, then?”

“Uhh, I don’t know, maybe we could... we could figure it out by the process of elimination?” They start to look around, searching for something, picking up every piece of trash.

“Aren’t there lots of them? It’d take us hours,” they say scrunching their nose. “Hold on, haven’t they all died or something?”

“Have you got a mirror? I can’t find a proper reflection.”

“What for?”

“Obviously, I want to know what I look like! Why else?” They roll their eyes.

“I dunno. I can tell you though. You’ve got long, blond hair, a funny nose I’ve seen on someone else already, but I can’t remember who... oh, and I like your ankles. You should show them off more.”

“Oh, am I a woman? I think I’ve been a woman once, at least people told me so. Or maybe they played a joke on me. Ha! I have to say, that would’ve been funny.”

The ginger one considers that for a bit, making an almost pained expression. “I don’t know, sorry. Gender’s funny.” The tall one nods understandingly.

“Well, as for you, you’ve got eyes way too big for your face, oddly short limbs and red hair. What are you, Irish?”

“Go way outta that!” they say in a bad Irish accent and immediately frown, and then finally get up from the floor. “I’m ginger though, isn’t that cool? I think I wanted to be ginger once. Or were I ginger once?”

“No, I think that could’ve been me,” the tall one says, thinks about it for a while, shakes off the thought. “Anyways, what else can you tell me about this body?”

“I don’t know, I’ve only seen the face,” they say, smirking. “Am i flirty now? Should I be flirting with you? You could be my sibling for all I know. Or worse, my parent!”

“Do I look old enough?” The tall one asks, grimacing.

“Not really, you look, what, probably like eighty three in human years?”

“Eighty three?! Do I look like a walking corpse again? Oh no, the joints are gonna be such a pain!” They whine in disappointment, grabbing their knees.

“What? No, you’re on the younger side.”

“Why did you say eighty three then?”

“I don’t know, what’s the human lifespan anyway? Three hundred?”

The tall one starts to giggle. “Oh, you’re a useless moron!”

The short one snorts. “That could be true, but you’re quite a dork yourself.”

“That does sum me up, probably,” they say as they try to lean against a pillar and a big chunk of it falls off, missing them by an inch.

“This is kind of embarrassing. I mean the whole situation. We should figure it out before going out where it might get even more awk-,” the Moron doesn’t finish, as there’s a sound of someone knocking on the door.

“Impeccable timing,” the Dork decides only half-ironically. “Come in!”

“Why would you… this could be anyone!” They say in a frustrated tone, quite disbelieving the Dork’s idiocy. Unfortunately, the door does open and a child peeks through.

“Are you the Doctor?” They glance at each other, apparently trying to say, _well, that rings a bell_.

“Yes,” both of them admit at the same time, giving each other more intent, but also even more confused looks.

The girl, who can’t be more than 12, isn’t put off by the unclarity of the situation. “Can I get an autograph?” She asks with a hopeful grin.

The Moron finds it too hard to deal with the awkwardness and simply takes the pen and the book with a police box on its cover that the girl is holding and signs it “The Doctor”, trying not to overthink it.

She smiles at them one last time and disappears behind the corner as the Moron examines the outside of the TARDIS, frowning when it proves to be a blue police box.

“Are you sure you’re the Doctor?” The Dork asks from the inside of the TARDIS.

The Moron chuckles. “I have absolutely no clue!”

“Yeah, well, me neither. So this is a situation.” They put their hands on their hips. “I don’t know how about you, but I’m craving a pickle. Or a lemon. Or both?”

“I could use some vitamin C right now as well, scurvy’s a bitch.” The Dork apparently considers that a good enough reply and tries to get out of the TARDIS, but to their dismay, is promptly stopped. “No, not out there! Not until we figure out who’s who.”

“All we know for now is that one of us is the Doctor. We’ll work it out as we go, come on, it’s pointless to just stay here in this pile of trash!” They gesture at the wrecked interior of the TARDIS, which answers with an offended huff.

The Moron sighs. “But they clearly know the Doctor, what are we going to tell them?”

“I don’t know! We’ll improvise. Move your ass or I swear I’m gonna carry you until I find an equally cranky donkey to do that for me,” they say in a tone suggesting that it’s a very legitimate threat. The Moron sighs even louder, but doesn’t oppose the Dork grabbing their hand and leading them outside.


End file.
